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RSR Looks Back at The Career of Screen Legend Tony Curtis

By Mike “Rubber Warrior” Plunkett

I recently had the pleasure to sit down with the former NABF junior welterweight and three-division national champion Nicky Furlano to discuss his journey through the ranks, first paying his dues as a Canadian prizefighter, and later as a world-ranked contender. Furlano’s career culminated in a high profile title opportunity against then undefeated Aaron “The Hawk” Pryor, a fighter that will no doubt one day be viewed as an all-time great in the years come. Over the course of that interview it was discovered that the bout with Pryor wasn’t Furlano’s only brush with greatness, but that years before he in fact shared some screen time with a legend from a different era, as an extra in 1979’s Title Shot, sharing a wink and a moment with Academy Award nominee Tony Curtis.

It’s strange how these things come about. I had vigorously pursued the opportunity to cast a light on the career of one of Canada’s most talented prizefighters of the last fifty years, and in the course of doing so uncovered a factoid that had previously escaped me, that being Furlano’s brief captured moment of time with the famed American actor. The discovery not only made me marvel at the different roads of opportunity boxing so often provides for those that take part in it, it also hit me on a personal level. You see, as a youngster I was typically out and about in the apartment complex where I grew up. But sometimes the weather didn’t favor the occasion, or plans and circumstance ensured that my friends were otherwise unavailable. During those dreary periods I often sought refuge in a world of illusion, where the players were bigger than life and the drama that framed their every move captured my attention. It was on one such occasion that I first took notice of Tony Curtis, in his role as a renegade race car driver in 1954’s Johnny Dark. I remember the brash delivery of Curtis in that role. His youthful arrogance mixed with a sense of reckless confidence spilled-over into an in-your-face performance that seemed to work. It commanded your attention. I know it grabbed mine.

In the years to come I began to enjoy the work of Tony Curtis as a matter of choice, as opposed to merely drifting into one of his performances. His good looks were typically underlined by adrenaline, a particular type of energy that sometimes seemed almost infectious, to the point of coloring his roles in a fashion that can only be described as unique. More to the point, Curtis’ ambition to be a movie star seemed secondary to his pursuit of the craft as an actor, yet it has been said that it was the pursuit of sheer stardom, not critical acclaim that drove him. As his career evolved, he took on roles that made demands of his talent, and because of his willingness to branch out as an actor, he gave us light comedy in the film Some Like It Hot opposite Marilyn Monroe and Jack Lemmon, to serious dramatic roles such as the escaped convict in The Defiant Ones, which earned him the nomination for the Academy Award for Best Actor.

For me, one of the better performances Tony Curtis delivered was opposite screen legend Burt Lancaster, another of my personal favorites, in Sweet Smell of Success. Undeniably a classic, Curtis delivered as Sydney Falco, an unscrupulous press agent who allows himself to be coerced by the unethical J.J. Hunsecker, a powerful Broadway columnist bent on breaking up his sister’s romance with a jazz musician. Later he took on the role of Antonius, in director Stanley Kubrick’s blockbuster motion picture Spartacus, a performance that saw Curtis sandwiched among a slew of notable talent such as Kirk Douglas and Laurence Olivier, easily holding his own.
Another notable indicator that Curtis had made his mark came from left field, with 1965’s appearance as Stony Curtis in an episode of The Flintstones.

Not that he actually appeared on screen at any point in it, his animated likeness and persona spoke volumes about his popularity and the familiarity the general public had with him as a popular performer. In a very real way, the lending of himself to that genre acts as a sort of commentary on the fun approach and spirited nature Curtis brought to his body of work. He was not afraid to take chances, stand out, poke fun at himself or take the back seat. A few short years later, Curtis again opted to change direction, delivering as the dark Albert DeSalvo opposite screen legend Henry Fonda in The Boston Strangler, a film I recall seeing as a youngster, perplexed by the dark tone of Curtis performance, something more than a little less of the light hearted and energetic display I was used to seeing from him. Maybe I was too young and the film far too much for me to understand at the time, but I distinctly recall being somewhat in fearful awe at his work in that one. You might say he had me believing, and in doing so, he pulled off the great trick all actors strive for, believability.

But time has an indefinable way of putting the most gifted and talented suddenly beyond their very best, in the blink of an eye. Like a shooting star talent often burns at its very brightest before it suddenly passes beyond that crest of glory. Acting, much like prizefighting, is an unforgiving business where one day you are the champ and the next you are on the outside looking in.

In the years after 1968 Curtis’ choice of quality scripts diminished. He parlayed the success of the previous two decades in a way that ensured fairly regular activity and income, performing both on television and in supporting roles in films, but the momentum of his earlier years seemed to have slowed to a crawl. By 1978 he was opting for work in fare such as The Bad News Bears Go to Japan, which ultimately brought him to the crossroads here in Toronto with Mr. Furlano in the film Title Shot. I’m not going to say that Title Shot is a good film, or that Curtis suddenly reached back to 1957 and delivered a performance worthy of his prime, but it is notable in that it intersected with our sport and some of its players, if even for a brief moment.

Defiance and resilience marked the career of Tony Curtis. He overcame early typecasting as a lightweight pretty boy and developed into a serious and respected actor. He defied obsolescence and continued to find steady work in an industry that prizes youth. He reshaped himself over time, managing to stay afloat long after the ship had set sail. One by one those of his era have slipped into eternity, and now Tony Curtis has vanished into the dark night. We’ve lost one of the great ones.

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